Suddenly, I cant remember how to ride. Im almost positive Im too short to reach Bucks saddle, which Im now grasping for. No, no! Alonzo says. Ive gone for the horn  the little knob at the front of the saddle  with both hands. One hand on the back, he tells me.

I grab again, correctly this time. I swing up and over. John Wayne would be proud. Now, a light grip on the reins, a gentle nudge to get Buck moving and were off.

Except were not. Buck flicks his ears but doesnt move. I start to sweat in the afternoon sun. Waynelle makes sure Im holding the reins correctly. I am. But my feet are barely touching the bottom of the stirrups. I push down, trying to settle in. I suspect Buck doesnt even know Im on his back. I should have had more tortillas at lunch.

Kick him, Waynelle tells me. But I can barely move the stirrups  my legs are too far apart to get up any momentum. Im angry with my parents. Couldnt one of them have been taller? Buck turns his head at the pull of the reins. Thats all I get. The seconds seem to drag on longer than the 32-mile ride down that rocky ranch road. I start wishing the longhorn had charged me and spared me the humiliation. Billy Crystal rode a horse (and birthed a calf ) in City Slickers, for goodness sake. Why cant I get Buck to go anywhere? Why didnt I Google how to ride a horse before I left home?

Finally, Waynelle calls it. She grabs the reins from my hands and leads Buck out of the gate. She at least wants to be sure I get my picture taken on horseback. Im like a little kid at the state fair.

As I dismount, Waynelle blames Buck. Hes just ornery because he hasnt been worked in a while, she assures me. Indeed, when one of the hunters takes over on Buck, he, too, has trouble getting any giddyap. I feel better. But not much. Im downgraded back to the Mule for the walk-around and hunting excursion.

On the 25-minute ride back to the ranchs bunkhouse, we stop suddenly. Theres a buck over there, Alonzo says from behind the wheel of the Mule. The buck is at least 200 yards away, halfway up a hillside and hidden in the brush. I could live on this ranch for a decade and never spot something like that  not from that distance, not in a moving vehicle, not ever. But, I wonder: Could Alonzo sight an available cab, in SoHo, at 5:30 p.m., in the rain, from four blocks away, when everyone on the street is hunting the very same thing? I can, for what thats worth.

I am kept up all night by a vibrating cell phone. Impossible  theres no service here except on the hilltops. Still, Im sure I hear it. No matter, as I cant sleep, anyway; I keep thinking about getting back on Buck and trying again.

By the time the sun rises, Ive come up with a plan: Find Alonzo and beg for a second mount, a chance at redemption, an opportunity to go back to the city this evening knowing that Ive been a Texas cowboy, if just for a half hour. Maybe less. Just long enough to let the morning sun dry up my ClarinsMen Moisture Gel.

I shower and shave and dress with conviction. If I skip Reds biscuits and scrambled eggs, Ill have enough time for a ride before I depart.